If you weren't there, it sucks to be you. The LA Weekly hosted a kick-ass show at Spaceland last night to celebrate their new music issue featuring The Class of '05 saluting “the rebels, the loners, the dreamers and the stoners of L.A. indie rock”… On the ticket— Ariel Pink, The Adored, Tsar and The Prix. And our girl Lina was jockeying the discs….
The marquis, however, had to be immediately adjusted, Ariel Pink cancelled right before he was scheduled to appear. A rumor spread like wildfire that he bagged the show because the LA Weekly didn't airbrush his cover photo.
The Adored played first and I kind of wanted to listen to them, the crowd looked like they were into it, but there was just so much catching up to do with my fellow Council members, and being able to smoke WHILE drinking was like a gift from the goddess of vice herself. Though when I asked the ho-hum bartender for an ashtray, she said there weren't any (Oh, how indie) so we ashed on the floor. Here we are adoring each other (the part of Lina was played by Katie, second on left)..
And then the pool table with its Jack Daniels-branded felt was calling me. Steffie paired up with a hunky Brit named Jonathan. But my partner was none other than the Charlie to our Angels, the Michael Patrick King to our Sarah Jessica Parkers, Style Council creator Joe Donnelly, deputy editor of the Weekly, and an amazing writer. We lost. But it was just as well, Tsar was about to take the stage.
So we emerged from the fish tank of a back room to find the main lamé-curtained room wall-to-wall writers, musicians and artsy types, distinguished by their footwear, chuck taylors or scuffed black boots, their jaded expressions and unkempt moppy haircuts.
And here was Tsar, the name in lights… I've heard plenty of you whispering about it, so here goes… It may have come to your attention that the LA Weekly's music editor is dating one of the guys in Tsar, and that band is on one of the covers of its latest music issue (there are 3 different cover versions circulating Tsar, Giant Drag, Ariel Pink, collect 'em all!). But let me set the record straight— the music editor Kate Sullivan didn't want to feature them. Joe Donnelly, the aforementioned pool shark, did and he was the one to push to get them on the cover. Still, I wasn't sure I would like them. I didn't… I LOVED them.
Their energy was so infectious I got a shot of penicillin today just to be safe. They were so rank with rock star cock, confidence, and ball sweat that they totally out-rocked the humble physical stage at Spaceland. It was like watching the Rolling Stones play in my high school gym. The skinny lead singer with his ass-less jeans even oddly resembles Mick Jagger.
But it was when he led the entire crowd on a full-blown sing along of Neil Diamond's Cracklin' Rosie, that I decided I wanted to have his abortion. My toes tapped without my approval, my pelvis kept time like a uteral
metronome. SO why should a great band be penalized for coincidence? And if that
prohibits you from seeing a great band give a panty-wetting
performance, then it REALLY sucks to be you.
I ran into Kate Sullivan in the ladies room where Steffie was giving me a make-over, mainly introducing me to purple lipstick??? (I'm going to trust her, though we were trashed at this point) we congratulated Kate on a great show and an amazing issue and convinced her to take part in an impromptu photo shoot in the crapper.
And I did airbrush our pictures, take that Mr. Pink!